The Rings
by WillowDryad
Summary: After seeing the vision of King Tirian, Peter and Edmund wouldn't use the rings themselves, would they? Set during The Last Battle. No slash. Thanks to narniagirl11 for the great cover art!
1. The Vision

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. But I've asked if I can have them over to play sometimes, and he never seems to mind. At least he never says anything to me about it.**

THE VISION

**"Children! Children! Friends of Narnia! Quick. Come to me. Across the worlds I call you; I Tirian, King of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Emperor of the Lone Islands!"**

**And immediately he was plunged into a dream (if it was a dream) more vivid than any he had had in his life.**

**He seemed to be standing in a lighted room where seven people sat round a table. It looked as if they had just finished their meal. Two of those people were very old, an old man with a white beard and an old woman with wise, merry, twinkling eyes. He who sat at the right hand of the old man was hardly full grown, certainly younger than Tirian himself, but his face had already the look of a king and a warrior. And you could almost say the same of the other youth who sat at the right hand of the old woman. Facing Tirian across the table sat a fair-haired girl younger than either of these, and on either side of her a boy and girl who were younger still. They were all dressed in what seemed to Tirian the oddest kind of clothes.**

**But he had no time to think about details like that, for instantly the younger boy and both the girls started to their feet, and one of them gave a little scream. The old woman started and drew in her breath sharply. The old man must have made some sudden movement too for the wine glass which stood at his right hand was swept off the table: Tirian could hear the tinkling noise as it broke on the floor.**

**Then Tirian realized that these people could see him; they were staring at him as if they saw a ghost. But he noticed that the king-like one who sat at the old man's right never moved (though he turned pale) except that he clenched his hand very tight. Then he said:**

**"Speak, if you're not a phantom or a dream. You have a Narnian look about you and we are the seven friends of Narnia."**

**Tirian was longing to speak, and he tried to cry out aloud that he was Tirian of Narnia, in great need of help. But he found (as I have sometimes found in dreams too) that his voice made no noise at all.**

**The one who had already spoken to him rose to his feet. "Shadow or spirit or whatever you are," he said, fixing his eyes full upon Tirian. "If you are from Narnia, I charge you in the name of Aslan, speak to me. I am Peter the High King."**

**The room began to swim before Tirian's eyes. He heard the voices of those seven people all speaking at once, and all getting fainter every second, and they were saying things like, "Look! It's fading." "It's melting away." "It's vanishing." Next moment he was wide awake, still tied to the tree, colder and stiffer than ever. The wood was full of the pale, dreary light that comes before sunrise, and he was soaking wet with dew; it was nearly morning.**

– _**The Last Battle**_**, C. S. Lewis**

Gloved hands stuffed into the pockets of his overcoat, Edmund leaned against a nearby lamppost and shifted his feet. The train wouldn't be here for a while yet and his knee ached fiercely in the cold dampness of the platform, but somehow he couldn't make himself sit down. Anyway, he didn't want to sit next to his brother right now, not in the mood Peter was in.

As a rule, Peter was sunny tempered, quick to smile, chivalrous to a fault and, if Edmund was forced to admit it, kingly. High-Kingly, in point of fact. But that didn't mean he didn't have his moods. It had been difficult for all of them, Edmund and Peter and their sisters, knowing they would never be allowed back into beloved Narnia, but Peter had taken it especially hard. Narnia had been given to him more than anyone else, given to him to rule and protect and love, but it was his no longer.

Peter had told Caspian on his final trip there that he hadn't come to take the prince's place but to put him into it. And when the prince was indeed king and Peter had nearly lost his life in making him so, Peter had bravely given into Caspian's hands his beloved sword, Rhindon, and then walked back into his own world, no longer King Peter the Magnificent, by gift of Aslan High King over all Kings of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, but merely fourteen-year-old Peter Pevensie, Schoolboy of Finchley.

As they all had since then, nearly eight long years now, he had done his best to live as a Narnian even when there was no Narnia for him to live in. Here in this Other Place, this England of the cold and damp, where even the sunniest day was only a pale counterfeit of bright Narnia, where chivalry and courtesy were often forgotten if not outright mocked and despised, Peter still carried himself as a king because he knew, whatever else happened, it was what Aslan required of him.

And, in time, he had come to know the great Lion by His name in this world. It was something that he and Edmund and Lucy shared, binding them more firmly together, soothing the loss of their glorious kingdom, but they all kept a place for Narnia in their hearts. And if it was a bittersweet place, a place that sometimes hurt beyond reason, they had each decided it was better to have that hurt than to not have it, especially if that hurt meant they could still hold to the memories that caused it.

But at least the hurt had been bearable, like the twinging of an old wound gladly suffered in a noble cause. It _had_ been bearable. Now it was intolerable. Ever since the vision almost a week ago, the longing for Narnia, for home, had gnawed at Edmund's heart. He could tell from that nearly desperate look in his brother's eyes that it was the same for him, no doubt even worse, but they could never go back. Never. Aslan had told them–

"But did He really mean . . ." Peter looked up, something almost pleading in the blue depths of his eyes.

Edmund pushed himself away from the lamppost and stalked over to where his brother was sitting, not knowing whether he wanted to punch him or merely shake some sense into him.

"How many times are we going to have this conversation, Pete? We both know what He said. We can't go back. Can't. Aslan–"

"At least you got to go one more time." There was a faraway longing in Peter's eyes. "And to sail to the world's end . . . "

Edmund only pressed his lips together, not knowing if that one more time made now better or worse.

Peter rubbed one gloved fist into the palm of his other hand. "Perhaps He's changed His mind. Whoever that was in our vision, how could he have come to us if Narnia didn't need us? If Aslan hadn't allowed–"

"I'm not saying that." Edmund gritted his teeth and sat on the bench next to Peter. "I'm not saying Narnia doesn't need help or that Aslan wasn't the one who let us know. But He doesn't change, Peter. He told us we can't go back, and that's what He meant. We have to accept that and do what we can from here. It's up to Jill and Eustace now."

"They're just kids, Ed. They can't possibly–"

"We were kids there, too. He can save by many or by few, remember?" Edmund tried to smile a little, tried to give some comfort even if he couldn't feel it himself. "Maybe by old or by young, too."

Peter didn't seem to hear him. "Just that little glimpse, and Narnia feels so close I can practically taste it." He put his head into his hands, raking his fingers through his fair hair. "If we could go for just a week. A day. Sweet Lion, an hour. I sometimes think I will never really breathe again if I don't get back into that air."

Edmund was too familiar with that sharp, aching need to chide him for it. Instead, he gave his brother's shoulder a friendly jostle with his own. "England has air, too."

Eyes blazing, Peter shoved him away, nearly pushing him off the bench.

Edmund clenched his jaw. "You think you're the only one, Pete? You think Lucy doesn't dream every night of dancing trees and living water and talking beasts? And if you think it's been long for you, think of the Professor and Aunt Polly. They went only that once and then not for long. It's been nearly eight years for you, less for me and Lu, but they– They're old now, and they were younger than we were that first time. Oh, bother all of them. You think I don't–"

He squeezed his hands into fists, stopping himself. After a taut moment, he let the breath out of his lungs.

"It's no good, Pete. It doesn't matter what we want now. We can't go."

"We could."

There was a touch of wildness in the blue eyes now and something that made Edmund draw back a little.

"Peter–"

"We could." Peter reached one gloved hand into his pocket and pulled out a pair of rings, one yellow and one green. "It would take only one little touch."

"No." Edmund shook his head, an incredulous half-smile touching his lips. "Peter, no. We all agreed. Jill and Eustace are to go. They're the only ones who can. Aslan said–"

"No!"

Seeing that had drawn a few glances from some of the other people on the platform, Peter ducked his head and lowered his voice.

"_I_ want to go, Ed." He looked up again, and there were tears standing in his eyes. "I _have _to go. Narnia needs me." He clenched his fingers around the rings and then rubbed his fist over his chest, pressing it hard against his heart. "I can feel it. Narnia needs _me_. Whoever it was we saw, he had the look of a king about him. What was a Narnian king doing bloodied and bound and alone? Why were we given this vision if we weren't to do something?"

"We _are_ doing something. We got the rings so Eustace and Jill can go. I know it's not what we want, but–"

"Afraid?" Peter's usually handsome face twisted into a sneer. "You call yourself a King of Narnia and you'd rather cower here than go to her defense?"

"That's not fair, Peter."

"Something more important to see to?" Peter gave Edmund's sore knee a shove, making him grimace. "Maybe a big match coming up? Can't miss that, eh?"

Edmund glared at him and hobbled around to the side of the station, into the wind but away from curious eyes and Peter's taunts. He'd been hurt playing rugby two days before and was crushed to have to leave the game and then watch his side lose. But he'd take those pains, physical and otherwise, a thousand times over rather than this now.

Peter came after him. "I never saw you turn back before, Edmund. No matter the odds, we were always in things together, and to turn coward now–"

With a growl, Edmund seized him by the front of his overcoat and shoved him against the station wall. "Don't you ever." His voice was low and fierce, trembling with the effort to keep it under control. "Don't you ever say that to me again. We've both been willing to die for Narnia, and we've both as good as done it, too. If I could, I'd be there this very minute. Like a shot, you know I would. But Aslan–"

At the name, Peter's chin quivered and his fist tightened on the rings he still held.

Edmund loosened his hold, his expression softening. "I know it's hard to take, Pete, seeing them go and knowing we can't. But do you really think that going against Aslan's wishes will end up right? For us or for Narnia? Do you want to risk spoiling what He has planned just so you can please yourself?"

Peter leaned his head back against the wall, drawing three or four trembling breaths. "I just– I just–"

He looked pleadingly at Edmund who pushed away from him with a sigh.

"I know." He dredged up a crooked smile. "Come on, Pete. Put those back in your pocket. The train will be coming in before long."

Peter swallowed hard, nodding twice, and then he opened his hand again, looking longingly at the rings. "You're right, Ed. Of course, you're right. Narnia will get help. That's what matters. And Aslan has given us these to rescue her, bless Him and them."

Then, as High King Peter had often done with a sword or a seal or anything else that was in some way meant to secure a pledge or bring deliverance, so often that he thought nothing of it now, he brought the rings to his lips.

Edmund's eyes widened. "Peter, no!"

But Peter was gone.

"No. No, no, no, no, no."

Edmund looked desperately around him, as if he'd find help or Peter or something useful there, but there was nothing. He was alone.

"Aslan, please–"

He squeezed his eyes shut and ducked his head against the wind that had turned suddenly bitter. He had to go after him. He _couldn't_ go after him. Aslan had told him he may never go back into Narnia, and he couldn't disobey. But Peter– Peter hadn't intended to go. He'd been tempted, sorely tempted, but he hadn't actually intended to use the ring. He just hadn't thought.

But Edmund wouldn't have that excuse. If he followed after, it would be in willful opposition to Aslan's decree.

"Aslan," he breathed again. "What do I do?"

He thought hard. He wasn't to go back into Narnia, that much was clear, but according to the Professor, a yellow ring wouldn't take him directly into Narnia itself. It would bring him only to the Wood Between the Worlds and, only from there, into other lands. Perhaps Peter was still there and had gone no farther. Perhaps it wasn't too late to keep him from disobeying the Lion and maybe spoiling the rescue only Jill and Eustace were meant to bring to Narnia.

Again he hesitated. Was this, even the thought of it, disobedience? Like the willful ringing of one little bell from some distant dead world all those years ago, the bell that had awoken Jadis and eventually brought her to spoil Narnia on the very day of its birth and even, in time, to kill the Great Lion Himself, would one small thing bring down on him, on Peter, on very Narnia some unwitting destruction?

He couldn't wait or Peter might leave the Wood. He had to do something before it was too late.

Maybe it already was.

He took the glove off his left hand and then reached into his pocket with his still-gloved right and brought out the pair of rings he carried, one yellow and one green. The green one, he dropped back into his pocket, but he picked up the yellow one with two fingers and brought it towards his bare left hand.

"Aslan, be my good lord," he whispered, and then he slipped on the ring.


	2. The Wood

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

THE WOOD

Edmund found himself swimming through– no, that wasn't the right word– he found himself _rushing_ through something like water, but when he came up into the air, into a warm, green place he'd never before seen, he wasn't at all wet. Yet he saw that he had come out of a little pool of water perhaps ten feet across. For a moment he thought that ought to be strange, as it ought to be strange that there were other identical pools everywhere he looked, but soon the feeling was gone. This place of lush grass and tall trees and leaf-filtered sunlight simply was, and within it he, too, simply was.

He stood a long time, merely breathing in the rich air, looking calmly at the trees, thinking nothing, until, feeling rather too warm, he shrugged out of his overcoat, stripped off his gloves and let them fall behind him into the grass. A little while afterwards, he noticed there was something draped across one of the heavy, almost-horizontal branches of a tree a few yards ahead. It was a man, he saw as he moved closer, a rather young man no more than three or four years older than Edmund himself. He was lying on his stomach with one long leg stretched out behind him along the branch and the other dangling beside it. His arms were crossed under his chin and his tousled blond hair had fallen over his forehead. His eyes were closed, and there was a sort of unfocused half-smile on his clean-cut face. Like Edmund, he wore drab, scratchy-looking clothing that seemed far too commonplace for this reverently silent forest. Like Edmund, he had shed his gloves and overcoat and left them on the ground.

For a while, Edmund only stood looking at him, as he had looked at the trees, not really thinking anything except that this was a good wood for sleeping and he should very much like to sleep, too. Then he realized the young man had opened his eyes and was looking back at him with the same vague disinterest.

There was something very familiar about the blue of those eyes, something he'd known since before he'd truly known anything, but he couldn't quite place it just now. He merely breathed a contented sigh and sat down on the ground. It couldn't possibly matter.

"You weren't here before."

The young man's voice, like his eyes, seemed like it ought to be familiar, but Edmund found he had no interest in figuring out such mysteries just now. He only looked up into the tree again.

"Before when?"

The young man thought for a moment. "Before . . . "

He finished with a shrug that Edmund copied.

"Always been here."

"I suppose," the young man murmured, closing his eyes again. As he drifted back into sleep, one arm slipped off the branch, dangling like his leg for a moment and then unbalancing him enough to make him tumble off into the grass not far from where Edmund sat.

"Ooof."

Never thinking he ought not to, Edmund laughed, and that somehow made his thinking a little less muddied. The young man laughed, too. It seemed that this was something the two of them had done very often and over a good many years sometime before. Somewhere before.

"I know," the young man said, adding drowsy realization to the laughter still on his face. "You play rugby."

Edmund rubbed his sore knee, and everything seemed to come clear.

"Peter."

Peter blinked, drawing his brows together. "Peter?"

"C'mon, Pete." Edmund shook him by the shoulders, remembering what the Professor had told them about his own experiences in this place and the warnings he had given about it. "Get up. We can't sleep here all day." Or forever.

Peter shook his head a little, and the dreamy look left his face, replaced by one of eager wonder.

"It's–" He leapt to his feet, his fingers twisted unconsciously into the shoulder of Edmund's shirt as he pulled him up beside him. "It's just as he described it. I can't believe we're actually here. It's–"

"It's not where we're supposed to be. Now come on before we do something to pitch a spanner into the whole works and ruin everything."

Again Peter shook his head, as if more was coming back to him. "I didn't mean to do it, Ed. I wasn't really going to use the ring, but I just didn't think–"

"Typical."

"You know you wanted to as badly as I did."

Edmund couldn't deny that, not and be honest, so he only scowled. "We've got to get back. Jill and Eustace and the others will be expecting us to meet them at the train with the rings any minute now. Get your coat and–"

"How?"

Peter glanced around the clearing, taking in all the identical little pools of water. Pools and trees. Pools and trees. Everywhere pools and trees. Everywhere alike.

"How do we get back, Ed? The Professor said each pool leads to a world. How do we know which leads to ours?"

"It's just–" Edmund felt the color drop out of his face. "Which one did I come out of? Do you remember?"

Peter shook his head, and his face, too, was pale. "I didn't see."

"And you don't remember where you came up?'

"No. You know how it is. Everything's a bit of a blur at first."

The two of them stood merely staring at one another, and then Peter walked over to the tree to pick up his overcoat.

"I don't– Wait a minute, what about your coat, Ed? Do you remember when you took it off?"

Edmund's coat was laying in the grass where he had dropped it, almost equidistant between two of the pools, and he went over to it, struggling to remember.

"I don't know for sure. I think I just stood there for a while when I first came up and then I saw you . . . no, wait, I saw you after I took off my coat. It's one of these two, don't you think?"

Peter narrowed his eyes. "I suppose that has to be right. It's as much as we have to go on at this point."

"But which one?"

Again they stood staring at each other until finally Peter frowned.

"It's all my fault. If I hadn't been so stupid–"

"I was the one who used one of the rings deliberately. That makes my being here nobody's fault but my own."

"You came because of me, Ed. Don't think I don't know." Peter's eyes flashed. "I ought to kill you for doing that. But I probably already have now."

"Don't be an ass, Peter. We'll try one of the pools. If it's wrong, we'll come back and try the other."

"And suppose we land in the middle of ice or fire or some sort of poison gas or even a pack of Fell Beasts? The Professor said one might meet anything in these other worlds. You'd better let me go first, just to be sure."

"No fear!"

"Look here, Edmund, no sense both of us–"

"We go together, Peter. Together or, so help me, the minute you go, I'll dive into one of those pools beyond those trees over there and then good luck you figuring out which one."

Edmund glared fiercely at him until Peter finally laughed.

"You'd just do it, too, wouldn't you?"

Edmund shrugged. "I might."

"Together then."

They both looked into the water.

"Which one, you reckon?" Peter asked, his expression grim again.

"I don't know, but we'd better make some kind of sign so we'll know what we've tried and where we ought to try next."

As the Professor had done all those years ago, Edmund knelt down and cut a strip out of the grass with his penknife. Then he cut one beside the other pool, crosswise to the first.

"How do you suppose Jill and Eustace are supposed to know which pool to use?"

Peter shook his head. "I guess Aslan would show them. Perhaps we haven't got all this as carefully planned as we thought."

Edmund merely dusted off his hands and said nothing.

"All right then." Peter put on his overcoat. "Better get yours on, too. If we land in the middle of another hundred year winter, you might want it."

"Don't remind me," Edmund said with a shudder, but he, too, put on his coat.

Peter took his arm. "Best stick together now. You have both of your rings?"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mum."

"Quiet, you. Now, green rings on."

Once they were ready, Peter eyed the pools again. "The right, you think?

"Good as any."

"All right, ready? Now."

They jumped feet first into the water. Again there was that rushing feeling, but this time there was something suffocating about it, oppressive and increasingly dark and definitely downward.

For an instant Edmund got a glimpse of a wasted land, of burnt desolation and blasted emptiness, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the barren ugliness of it. Then he felt solid ground under him and stumbled to one knee, his bad one.

"Ugh."

Peter still had him by the arm and didn't let him fall all the way down.

"I can't believe it." Peter's voice shook with emotion. "It's just– just–"

"I know," Edmund breathed, not wanting to see more of the terrible place. "Horrible."

"– beautiful."

Edmund's eyes snapped open. Surrounding him was a spring meadow, lush with grass and flowers, bordered by burgeoning forest on two sides, a crystal river on a third, and on the fourth, the rocky foothills of what grew into purple mountains off in the distance. Above, the sky was clear and blue, with only a few wispy clouds drifting across it.

He struggled to his feet and blinked hard, hardly able to bear the sweet intensity of the colors and the fresh, pure fragrance of the grass, half expecting this paradise to disappear. But it held steady. He hadn't seen anything so glorious since–

He glanced at his brother. Peter still had a tight grip on his arm, though Edmund could see he was no longer aware of it. Peter was only standing with his face to the gentle sun, gulping down the clear air in the trembling gasps of a newly rescued drowning man. Then, with a soft cry, he fell to his knees, twining his fingers into the grass and then burying his face in it, his tears watering the rich black earth.

"We're back. We're back."

Edmund looked around. It couldn't be. It mustn't be.

"Peter, no. We can't–"

"It's Narnia, Ed. Narnia at last."


	3. The River

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

THE RIVER

Peter knew his heart was forever in his eyes, on his face, in his voice. Edmund's was almost always carefully hidden, even from those who knew and loved him best. That was why, in their days as ruling kings, Edmund had been the diplomat while Peter was the warrior, Edmund the maker of law and Peter the enforcer, Edmund the cool reason that balanced Peter's fiery emotion, and it had served them well. But Peter knew without doubt that they were alike in their profound love for the land Aslan Himself had given into their care. How could Edmund just stand there now, his face grave rather than joyous, while looking out on longed-for Narnia?

Peter grabbed his arm again, pulling himself to his feet.

"It's Narnia, Ed."

He laughed shakily, wiping the tears from his face, trying to overcome the resistance in his brother's expression. It was Narnia. Shouldn't that be enough?

Edmund only shook his head, dark eyes wary. "We have to leave. We can't come back. Not here."

"But we _are_ back. Aslan must have–"

"Aslan would never go against His own word."

"It's not like we came here deliberately." Peter let a touch of pleading into his eyes. "Not really, anyway. We were just trying to get back to England, and this happened to be where we landed. We couldn't have possibly known where we were going, not with all those pools to choose from. Maybe we're the ones who are supposed to rescue Narnia after all."

"Aslan said–"

"How could we have ended up here if He hadn't wanted us here again?"

Edmund narrowed his eyes, looking around the clearing. "_Someone_ wants us here, no doubt."

"Who, if not Aslan?"

"I don't know. I don't know. Maybe whoever wants to see His plans for Narnia spoiled." Edmund's lips trembled. "She couldn't be the only one who wanted that."

Peter put his hands on his brother's shoulders, steadying him, knowing at once who She was. He knew too well the terrors Edmund had suffered at the hands of the White Witch and the terrible price that had been paid for his freedom from her. That was nearly half their lifetimes ago, even if one didn't count the years that had been taken from them after their first visit to Narnia, but the memory was again in Edmund's dark eyes. He had never lost the wariness she had taught him.

"Jadis is dead," Peter reminded him. "You know that."

Still, they exchanged a look, both remembering. _You can always get them back._

Edmund looked more than a little sick.

"And you know there are always more like her," he said with a grave nod. "Those who think they can make themselves Aslan's equal and rule in His place."

Peter didn't have an answer to that. Edmund was right, of course. In his head, Peter knew he was and that they had to leave here at once. But in his heart . . .

He filled his lungs again with the sweet Narnian air and his sight with the trees and fields and mountains that had been, for far too long, only the stuff of dreams and memory, things too bright and beautiful for that Other Place, that England. _Not yet_, his heart cried out, _not yet_.

In a sudden rush, he stripped off his gloves and coat and tossed them behind him as he sprinted away.

"Peter!" Edmund snatched up the discarded items and came after him. "Peter, no!"

It was only about a hundred yards to the river, but Edmund's bad knee hobbled him, and Peter reached the riverbank first. Then he turned, only slightly winded.

"Come on, Ed!"

He scrambled through the tall grass that waved along the water's edge, determined to see and feel and smell and taste Narnia before it was again torn away from him. Before Edmund could reach him, he dropped down and cupped both hands in the water, splashing it on his face and drinking it down as he had earlier gulped down the Narnian air. It was cold and pure and satisfying like nothing he had tasted since he'd last been here. Since he'd last been home.

"What are you doing, Pete?"

Peter lifted his head, feeling stronger than he had even just a few minutes before, feeling as if he were at last alive again. But Edmund was standing over him, still in his overcoat, burdened with Peter's coat, too, and burdened with the knowledge that this couldn't last. Not for either of them.

Peter's shoulders slumped and for a moment there was nothing but the sound of the water that dripped from his hair and his face, water that slipped through his fingers and ran back into the rushing river and forever from his sight.

"Just a drink, Ed." His throat closed around the words, and they came out almost in a sob. "One last drink."

Edmund's face was still and grave, and for a long while he said nothing. Then Peter realized there were tears in his dark eyes.

"Edmund–"

Edmund turned his face away, and for a taut moment, Peter could hear the unsteadiness in his breathing. Then slowly, deliberately, he laid Peter's overcoat in the grass and, once he'd removed his gloves, he laid his own with it. That done, he knelt near the water.

He forced a tight smile. "One last then."

Peter nodded. "Before we go."

Edmund cupped his hands and brought them up full. Closing his eyes, he took a deep drink.

"Ugh."

He spat the water out, coughing and sputtering and scrubbing his mouth with his sleeve as if he could wipe away the taste.

"Edmund, what is it?"

Edmund's face was deathly pale, and he looked as if he would truly be sick. "Didn't you–" He drew his dark brows together, studying Peter's face. "How could you drink that? Didn't you see–"

He broke off, coughing again, and Peter could only stare at him.

"See what, Ed? What's wrong?"

Edmund scrambled to his feet. "When we first got here, I didn't know what kind of place we'd ended up in. I saw a horrible, forsaken wasteland, totally destroyed. Burned and blasted."

"But–"

"I saw it for only a second. I thought it was something to do with whatever time or space we passed through to get here."

Peter got to his feet, wary of the expression on his brother's face. "Perhaps it was."

"I just saw it again."

"What?"

"I tasted that–" Edmund grimaced at the river. "–that water, and I saw it all again. Ruin and waste and destruction everywhere. And the water itself–" Again he grimaced. "I don't know how to describe it, except it tasted like death."

Bewildered, Peter scooped another handful of the cold crystal water and brought it first to his nose. It didn't have any odor. He tasted it and then swallowed down as much as he could hold. It was as pure and delicious as before.

"There's nothing wrong with it, Ed."

Edmund drew back, wary and unbelieving.

"No, really," Peter urged. "Try it again."

After a moment's hesitation, Edmund cupped one hand and dipped it into the river. As Peter had done, he sniffed the water first. Then he took a sip. Finally, closing his eyes, he drank more. It was obviously still delicious.

"I– I don't understand."

Peter laughed. "Leave it to you to find something to grouse about even here in Narnia."

Edmund narrowed his eyes, again scanning the forest. "Are you sure this _is_ Narnia?"

"Of course it is. Can't you feel it? Can't you smell it? Look round you. Everything is just the way I remember it. The mountains, the great river, the trees–"

"But what do you hear, Peter?"

Peter listened for a moment and then shrugged. "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly. Narnia was never a silent place. Except for the wind in the trees and the river's rush, what do you hear? Where are the Animals? The Birds? The Fauns and the Centaurs and the Satyrs? The Naiads and the Dryads? Even the Fell Beasts? Why is there no one here but us?"

"I–" Again Peter had no answer. "Of course it's Narnia. There just doesn't happen to be anyone right here at the moment. I bet there's someone just beyond those trees or over that rise there. I'm sure down around the Cair–"

"We're not going down to the Cair, Peter. Are you insane? It's not just round the corner, you know."

"But someone there would know what's going on. If the man we saw is king of Narnia now, someone there would know who he is and what trouble he's in."

"We have to go back." Edmund picked up both overcoats and handed Peter his. "Eustace and Jill will be waiting."

Peter took the coat and tossed it back into the grass. Then he started walking swiftly alongside the great river that ran to the sea, to the glistening eastern sea overlooked by a shining castle.

Cair Paravel.

Home.

Scowling, Edmund snatched up the coat again and limped after him. "Don't be an idiot, Peter. You don't know what you're doing. I saw–"

"I don't know what you saw, Ed. And you know what? I don't care." Peter glared at him and then stalked through the tall grass again. "I don't care. I'm not leaving until I know what's happening here. Not now that I've finally got back. Not when Narnia needs me."

Edmund made a frustrated little growl low in his throat. "We have to go home."

"I am home!"

"Back to England! The train must be there by now. Jill and Eustace–"

"Go then. You want so badly to go back, go on."

"We can't stay, Pete. We don't know what we stepped into. There might–"

"Go back, Ed."

"You don't mean that."

Peter walked on, determined not to hear. "Go back. If you want to abandon Narnia, go."

"You're the one abandoning Narnia! Jill and Eustace can't go without the rings. Then whoever we saw in that vision last week won't get the help he needs. All because you won't listen to reason."

"I'll help him. I'll find him, and I'll help him. Jill and Eustace won't even have to come."

Edmund bit his lip, worry and frustration in every line of his face. "That wasn't the plan."

"Go back, then. Don't let me keep you."

"Together, Peter, remember?" Edmund was getting breathless now, the pain in his knee making him struggle to keep up with Peter's long strides. "We've always watched each other's back. You know I can't leave you here alone."

"You have your own rings. Go back to England." Peter still headed downstream, still with the taste of the fresh river water in his mouth. "Jill and Eustace can come if they still think they need to. The Professor said one set of rings would do for both of them. Go on back, Ed. You don't need me, and I don't–"

He stopped when Edmund did, stopped at the stricken look on his face and bit back the hot words that had leapt to his tongue. Words he didn't, couldn't ever, mean.

"Ed."

Edmund was stone still, paler even than usual.

"Edmund."

"Go ahead and say it, Pete."

Peter swallowed hard, and the aftertaste of that crystal water was suddenly not so sweet. "I never–"

"Say it." His eyes were dark and fathomless, and there was deadly force in every soft syllable. "You don't need me."

"Eddie–

"Say it," Edmund repeated. "I guess it's true enough. You're the High King. You don't need anybody. Go ahead and say it."

"That's not–"

"Never mind me, Peter. I don't matter. But I thought Narnia mattered. I thought Aslan–"

"Edmund, I–" Peter ducked his head. "I want to be here. I _need _to be here. Aslan has to know–"

"He does know, I'm sure He does. He knows how you feel, how we both feel, but He also knows what's best. For us and for Narnia." Edmund's face took on that stoic hardness Peter knew too well. "This isn't helping anything. I can't make you do what you don't want to do. And, I'm sorry, Peter, but I can't go against Aslan. Not even for you. If you won't come with me, I'll have to go back alone."

"Isn't that what I've been telling you?"

Peter meant his voice to be cool and commanding, but it came out rather unsteady. Was he ready to walk Narnia's wilds without his second pair of eyes? Without the shield to his sword? Without the other half of himself?

For a long moment, Edmund said nothing. Then he handed Peter his coat and put on his own. Finally, he put on one glove.

"Ed–"

"Please change your mind, Peter." Edmund's voice was low and almost toneless, his face expressionless, but there was pleading desperation in his eyes. "I don't want to leave you here alone."

Peter scowled at him, needing to cover the uncertainty he felt. Was he going against Aslan to stay here now? Or was he here because it was what the great Lion wanted? Or was it only what he wanted for himself? He wiped his mouth, wiped away the last of the water's intoxicating taste. What was he supposed to do? Edmund was so certain they should leave.

_The last time I didn't believe Lucy, I ended up looking pretty stupid._

Edmund had been wise enough to listen that time, back when Lucy had claimed to see Aslan and no one had believed her. No one but Edmund. How might things have turned out back then, how many brave lives might have been saved, if Peter himself had been wise enough to trust and believe rather than go his own way?

Since that time, he'd found Edmund to be more and more attuned to the Lion's voice. And he thought of something he had heard in that Other Place:_ He who is forgiven much loves much. _Edmund, quiet Edmund, had never forgotten who had been meant to die on the Stone Table. He'd never forgotten who had been a traitor and who had deserved to die. And he had never forgotten Who had given His life in his place. And Peter sometimes wondered if his brother loved the Lion better than he did himself.

Was it true? Peter looked around him, drinking in the glorious view. Narnia. Home. This was home. And more than that, this was life and breath and being to him. Did he love Aslan enough even now to leave it if that was His will? Clearly Edmund did. It would break his heart yet again, but Edmund was prepared to go back.

Peter closed his eyes, silent for a moment, listening for the Voice that was like no other, hearing nothing but the memory of it saying he may never return to the kingdom he loved with everything inside himself and for which he had bled and nearly died.

Edmund was still waiting there when he looked up again, dark eyes intent, still pleading. Peter turned his face again to the gentle sun, filling himself once more with the sweet Narnian air, and then he gave his brother a bittersweet smile.

"I suppose I've had my hour, and I never really thought to have even that much again."

Edmund's face relaxed a little, and he, too, took one final searching look around. "It's best, Pete. Really. You'll see."

Peter nodded. "And about– about what you asked before. I couldn't say it."

Edmund shrugged and looked away. "It doesn't matter now."

"I couldn't say it, Ed, because it isn't true. You know I need you with me. I always have. High King or not, I'm never any good without you."

Edmund snorted. "And you're an ass as well."

With a half-startled laugh, Peter threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly until Edmund squawked and squirmed away.

"Get off me, you great lummox. You don't know your own strength."

"I love you, too, Eddie."

"And don't call me Eddie."

Peter chuckled and put on his coat and one glove. Then he sobered. This was it then.

He squared his shoulders and took Edmund's arm. "Best stay together."

Edmund nodded, and with one more longing look at the glorious kingdom that surrounded them, Peter reached into his pocket.

"Please."

They both turned at the little voice.

"Please, don't go away. Don't leave me."

It was coming from somewhere in the forest. Narrowing his eyes, searching the trees, Peter took a step forward, and Edmund pulled him back.

"Peter, wait–"

Shrugging out of his brother's grasp, Peter loped towards the sound, wishing Rhindon was still at his hip. "Show yourself!"

"Please," the plaintive little voice said. "I'm afraid."

"Don't be afraid," Peter called, his voice gentle and reassuring, as if he were comforting one of their sisters. "We won't leave you. Where are you?"

"I'm up here."

Peter glanced back at Edmund, scowling at the warning in his dark eyes, and then he drew nearer to where he thought the voice must be. There, high up in an old oak, was a golden-haired little girl perhaps seven or eight years old.

"Don't leave me," she pled again, tears standing in her big blue eyes, and Peter's mouth dropped open.

"Lucy!"


	4. The Sword

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

THE SWORD

"Don't be an idiot, Pete. Lucy's seventeen now. That couldn't be her."

Peter gave Edmund an even blacker scowl, but as he drew closer to the tree, he could see Edmund was right. Still, the little girl sitting on the branch above his head did remind him very much of their youngest sister, wide eyed and innocent, just as she'd been when she had first made her way through the wardrobe into Narnia. He couldn't very well leave this poor child where she was. He made his expression reassuring again.

"It's all right," he called to her. "What are you doing up there? Shall I come get you down?"

Before Edmund could stop him, he swung himself into the tree and made his way up to where she sat.

"Hullo. What's your name?"

The tears spilled down her round cheeks. "A-Amice. Wh-what's your name?"

"I'm Peter. That surly fellow down there is my brother Edmund, but he's not a bad sort, not really. You'll rather like him when he's done sulking."

That earned him a tearful little giggle, and he responded with a wink.

"Would you like my handkerchief?"

The girl's lower lip trembled. "Yes, please."

But when he held his handkerchief out to her, she didn't take it. Instead, she turned her face up to him and closed her eyes, obviously expecting him to dry her tears for her. So like Lu . . .

"That's better," he murmured as he blotted her face. "Now, shall we go down and see what Edmund's up to?"

She glanced down, obviously uncertain, and then she slipped one trusting little hand into his. "You won't let him hurt me, will you?"

Edmund rolled his eyes, and Peter only chuckled. "Don't you worry about Ed. You'll like him just fine. Really. Now, give me your hands and I'll pass you down to him."

Instead, she threw her arms around his neck and hid her face against his shoulder. "Carry me, Peter. Don't let me fall."

"I won't let you fall, Amice. I promise." He tried to pull her hands away, but she just wasn't letting go. "All right then, but you hang on. If you let go while I'm climbing down, I won't be able to catch you."

"I'll hold on, Peter. I promise."

"Are you down there, Ed? Just in case?"

"I hope you don't expect me to catch the both of you," Edmund called back up to them, and Peter was quite sure he heard him toss the word _lummox_ somewhere in there.

But the little girl held fast to Peter's neck, and they both reached the ground safely.

"All right now," Peter said. "That wasn't bad, was it?"

Again he tried to take her arms from around his neck, but she still clung to him.

"I w-was afraid, Peter. I didn't know if you would– would come get me."

He gave Edmund a bewildered glance over her head and then, cuddling her close, sat down with his back against the tree.

"You're safe," he soothed, rubbing her back. "I promise. Come on now."

He could feel her little body shake with sobs and the warm wetness of her tears soaking into his shirt, and he decided it was best to let her quiet a bit before asking her any questions. He'd soothed a lot of little hurts since Dad had gone to war and Mum had trusted him with looking after the others.

Edmund stood over the two of them, lips pressed into a hard line, dark brows drawn together. "Peter, we need to–"

"All right, Ed. Just give me a minute." He eased the little girl's arms from around him so he could look into her tear-streaked face. "What were you doing up there, sweetheart? Were you hiding from someone?"

She nodded, trembling again, and then ducked her head against his chest. "Joss put me up there. He told me not to come down no matter what happened. And then– And then–"

She burst into tears again. Peter held her close, stroking her hair and rocking her against him, but giving Edmund a worried look over her head.

"Then what, sweetheart?" he urged gently. "You can tell me. It's all right."

"They took him away."

"Who? Joss?"

She nodded, sobbing.

With a grimace, Edmund dropped to one knee beside them. "Who took him?"

She shook her head, not looking at him. "I– I don't know. There were wolves and a some bad men and some horrid things I don't know the names of."

"Is Joss your friend?" Peter asked her.

"He's my brother. He's ten. He tried to make them all go away and leave us alone, but the wolves dragged him down and then I couldn't see him anymore."

Out of her sight, Edmund caught Peter's eye and nodded towards a patch of grass a few feet away from the tree. It was flattened and the ground there torn and stained with what might be blood.

"Not enough," Edmund murmured, and Peter nodded, understanding. _Not enough to be fatal._

"What were you doing out here alone?" Peter asked the girl. "Where are your people?"

She sniffed and wiped her nose against his shoulder.

"They came and took Papa away. They said he had to work cutting down the trees. He told them the king wouldn't like that, but they took him anyway."

"The king?" Edmund ducked down a little, trying to see the girl's face.

"What's the king's name now, sweetheart?" Peter asked, and the girl's expression brightened a little.

"His name is King Tirian. He's a boy. Not a little boy. A big boy like you. I always thought a king was supposed to be an old man, but he's not. I think he's nice."

Peter grinned a little at his brother and then at the girl. "Not all kings are old. What does he look like?"

"He has gold hair like you and a nice face with just a little bit of beard. I saw him one time when I was little."

"The vision," Peter murmured. "It was the king."

"What happened to him?" Edmund asked the girl, his face grim.

"I don't know." Amice turned her eyes up to his, still looking unsure of him. "Something bad, I think, but I didn't understand. Joss said we ought to find someone to help him and to help Papa, but then the wolves took him away, and I didn't know what to do. Joss–"

Peter wiped her face with his handkerchief again. "It's all right, Amice. We'll take care of you, and we'll find Joss, too. Don't you worry."

Again she sniffled, but she smiled a little, too, absolute assurance in her eyes.

"I know. You're the tall boy with gold hair. You were supposed to come."

Edmund's eyes widened and then narrowed. "Who told you that?"

She shrank back from him, clinging more tightly to Peter who smiled into her eyes and tried his best to keep Edmund's intense, startled expression off of his own face.

"It's all right, sweetheart. Who told you that?"

"I– I don't know. It was a voice when I was up in the tree. After the wolves took Joss away, I couldn't help crying, and it told me not to be afraid."

Again, Edmund's and Peter's eyes met.

"What was the voice like?" Peter asked.

The girl's forehead puckered in thought. "I was scared of it at first. Then I thought it was more like Papa's voice sometimes, but it was more– more gold-like. I wanted to hear it again, but it went away."

Peter exhaled and felt the tightness ease out of his shoulders. "Aslan."

Edmund's dark eyes flickered. "What did the voice tell you?"

"Just that there would be a tall, gold-hair boy. And it said the king must help the king. I didn't understand."

The eager blood rushed through Peter's veins. He was to save King Tirian and Narnia. They were meant to be here after all. That same eagerness burning in his eyes, he glanced at Edmund. Edmund only returned him a warning scowl and then peered at the little girl.

"What else did it say?"

"That was all, except I saw–" She made a face as if she smelled or tasted something nasty. "I saw a place where all the grass and trees were burnt and the water was black and had– things in it. I didn't like it. And the voice said that's what would happen to the land if the gold-hair boy didn't come and if the king doesn't help the king."

A warning. It made perfect sense. Edmund was more sensitive to such things. Of course he'd be the one to see the vision. And Peter would be the one to stop it from happening.

He coaxed the little girl onto her feet and then stood up, still with her hand firmly in his own. "Where did they take your father to cut trees?"

"They said to the great wood in the west."

Something fierce and furious flashed through Edmund's eyes, but he only clenched his jaw and said nothing.

"What about the king?" Peter asked the girl. "Do you know where he is?"

She shook her head, making her blonde hair bounce a little. "But I think he was at the castle. At Cair Par'vel."

Peter deliberately did not look at his brother. "And where do you live, sweetheart?"

The girl pointed down the river. "Our village is that way. I don't know how far now. Joss and I ran all night and almost all day."

"And which way did they take Joss? We'd better see to him first."

"Back towards the village. I think they mean to keep us there, to make us work for them. That's why Papa made us run away."

Still avoiding Edmund's eyes, Peter took off his too-warm overcoat and slung it over his shoulder. Then he looked around the clearing for something that might serve as a weapon.

"If I just had my sword and some decent mail–"

"What are you thinking, Peter?" Edmund moved to stand in front of him, forcing Peter to face him. "I thought we were leaving."

"How can we now?" Peter glanced at Amice, who was clinging to him still, with one hand clutching his belt and her body pressed tightly to his leg. "What about her? And what about her brother? And King Tirian?"

"What about Aslan?"

Peter tilted his head a little to one side and gave Edmund an incredulous smile. "You heard what He said. 'The king must save the king.' I have to stay now. Besides, I don't think He'd very well want us to leave a little girl to fend for herself. What about your woods? Don't you care that they're cutting down the trees?"

Lantern Waste and the Western Woods had always been his brother's special charge, and Peter saw that the thought of their hurt had caught at his heart.

Edmund gnawed his lower lip. "I just– I don't know, Pete. I'd stay if I could, you know I would, but what Aslan said–"

"What about what He said now?" Peter urged. "And what about the things that are going on here? We don't know what's happened to the king or why they'd dare cut down your trees. Surely we can't leave things as they are."

"But Jill and Eustace–"

"You know how it is about times, Ed. No matter how long we're here, hardly a moment will have passed back in the Other Place. The train still won't have come."

"I don't know if the rings work the same way."

"What about what you saw, Ed? Amice saw it, too. We can't let that happen, can we? Not to Narnia. Not after Aslan sent us warnings about it."

One hand on his hip and the other twisted into his dark hair, his breathing uneven, Edmund paced a few steps away. When he turned back, Peter could hardly bear the torn anguish on his face.

"Peter–"

"Yes," Amice said, a sudden smile illuminating her little face. "Yes, I will."

She started tugging at Peter's hand, and he turned to her. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"I'm supposed to take you to the river."

Edmund glared at her. "Why?"

The little girl half hid herself behind Peter, and he leaned down to have his eyes level with hers. "Why do we need to go to the river, sweetheart?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. The voice told me."

Peter looked at his brother, his eyebrows raised, waiting for Edmund's response to this.

For a long moment, Edmund only glared at the both of them. Then he threw up his hands. "All right. All right. I don't suppose it will hurt anything to just see."

Amice pulled Peter towards the river, her little bare feet pattering under her forest green skirts. Edmund followed after them, constantly scanning the trees around them for any sign of attack, no doubt wishing, as Peter did, for the comfort of weapons and armor.

"What else did He say?" Peter asked as they strode through the grass.

Amice stopped for a moment, thinking again. "We need to hurry." She lifted her eyes to him, worry flooding her expression. "We have to help Joss before it's too late."

"What did He say?" Peter urged, trying to display more patience than he currently felt.

"Just that I should take you to the river. That was all. But–" There was pleading in her eyes now. "I just know we ought to hurry, Peter. Please."

She was clutching his hand with both of hers now, and he couldn't help thinking how like little Lucy she was. He couldn't disappoint her.

"Come on, Ed," he said with a glance back.

Edmund was still watching the trees, his face now unreadable. In another minute they were at the river, foraging through the long grass until they were at the very edge of the water.

There was nothing to see.

"What now, Amice?"

She looked back at Peter with guileless blue eyes. "I don't know. All the voice said was to bring you."

Edmund frowned. "We're wasting our time here, Peter. We have to–"

He broke off, and the three of them watched as a large wooden chest came bobbing along in the water, swept towards them until it was caught in some rocks on the riverbank a few yards upstream. They hurried to it and Edmund and Peter hauled it onto the grass.

Amice beamed at them, her little hands clasped in front of her. "What do you think it is? Treasure?"

"Best be careful, Pete."

Peter opened the latch and lifted the lid and then smiled. "That's rather strange. It's clothes."

They weren't just clothes. They were glorious Narnian clothes, soft and comfortable and yet rich, just enough to outfit two kings. Below that was two pairs of boots, the kind that stood up to weather and wading and were perfect for comfortable walking. Below that still were two shirts of chain mail, too fine to have been made anywhere but in the best of the dwarf smithies. And at the very bottom were two shields and a pair of swords.

Edmund took the first. It was beautifully made, perfectly balanced, and his dark eyes gleamed as he looked on it. Peter took the other, pulling it, sheath, belt and all, from the casket before he realized exactly what it was.

The breath trembled out of him as he closed his fingers around the hilt, the hilt that was topped with the golden head of a lion. In one practiced motion, he drew the blade from the sheath, shivering at the familiar slithering sound of metal against leather, knowing, without having to see, the sacred words that had been forged along its length.

Edmund's eyes were enormous, almost black in his suddenly paper-white face. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was Peter who spoke, and almost he did not recognize his own voice. It seemed to come somewhere from the memory of a dream.

"It is my sword, Rhindon. With it I killed the Wolf."

**Is anyone reading this tripe? Should I keep going?**


	5. The Village

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

THE VILLAGE

"Aslan's provision," Peter said, his blue eyes shining as he gazed on his beloved sword.

What could Edmund say? Peter was happier at this moment than he'd seen him since they had last been in Narnia, before Peter had obediently relinquished the sword to Caspian, sick at heart to know he would never return to reclaim it or his kingdom. But now he _was_ here. They both were. It couldn't be right. Aslan didn't change. He didn't go against His own word. And He knew the end from the beginning.

_Dearest, you and your brother will never come back to Narnia._

Edmund heard the warm, golden Voice as if it were yesterday and not years ago. But He had told them all they would never come back. Not may never but _would_ never. It occurred to him for the first time that perhaps this wasn't a command but an assurance of what was to come. How could they be here now? Aslan knew the end from the beginning.

"Peter–"

But Peter was gathering one set of clothes and a pair of the boots into his arms, obviously having no doubt that they would fit him perfectly. "Keep Amice, um, occupied for a moment, will you, Ed?"

"Why?"

Peter jerked his head towards the trees and looked expectantly at the clothes and then at Edmund. "I won't be long."

Edmund gave him a reluctant nod and sat on the ground next to the chest, but Amice clutched Peter's arm with both little hands.

"Don't leave me, Peter. Please don't."

Her chin quivered and she looked as if she would again burst into tears.

He leaned down and put his arm around her. "It's all right, sweetheart. I won't be gone a minute, and Edmund will look after you just fine."

"But Joss–"

"We'll get him. I promise. I just have to get ready to go, all right?"

Her lower lip shot out and she gave Edmund a baleful look

"Come on, Ed," Peter pled. "Help a fellow out."

Edmund frowned, wracking his brain for something that might amuse the kid for a few minutes. What had Lucy liked at that age? Hide and seek was out of the question.

He gave the girl what he hoped was an inviting smile. "Would you like to hear a story about a little girl and a faun and a lamppost and a very long winter?"

A hesitant smile tugged at one corner of her mouth, and she sat down next to him. "I know a faun. He lives up the hill from our village."

Out of her sight, Peter slipped off into a dense part of the forest, and Edmund turned his attention back to the girl. She was watching him, her big eyes full of innocent anticipation, and he found himself warming to his task. Peter wasn't the only one who could handle this sort of thing.

"Well, anyway, the little girl, her name was Lucy, went into a wardrobe one day. Of course, knowing it's very foolish to shut oneself into a wardrobe, she made sure not to close the door all the way behind her . . . "

A little spellbound himself by Amice's rapt attention, he tried to tell the tale as he remembered Lucy had originally unfolded it, making his words as animated as possible until he finally came to his own part in the story.

"But, when she came back out of the wardrobe and told her brothers and sister where she had been–"

"None of them believed her."

Edmund looked up when Peter spoke, and was for a moment speechless. For though he had no crown, it was High King Peter the Magnificent who stood now before him, his fair hair positively golden against the dark brown of his tunic, his eyes shining the blue-silver of his chain mail, his booted legs seeming somehow longer than before, his shoulders somehow broader, his face somehow more noble.

"You'd better change, too," he said as he strapped Rhindon to his side.

Edmund looked at the pile of clothes that remained there next to him. Unable to help himself, he ran his fingers over the midnight blue tunic and the butter-soft leather boots. The mail shirt was cool and heavy in his hands, just as he remembered it ought to be. He glanced at Amice who was staring adoringly at Peter. They had to take her home, didn't they? They had to at least find someone who could look after her.

"Come on, Ed," Peter urged, taking up his silver-colored shield with the red lion ramped across it. The lion–

Peter nudged Edmund's shoulder with his knee, and Edmund looked up at him, still unsure. Then Amice stood and tugged at his sleeve.

"Please," she begged. "We have to get Joss."

He said nothing, but he pushed himself to his good knee and stood up. Then he gathered up the clothing and boots and, with another questioning glance at his brother, went behind the trees.

Forcing his swirling thoughts to the back of his mind, he took off his stifling overcoat and started stripping out of his bland English clothes.

"You look pretty," the little girl's voice piped from the clearing, followed by Peter's half-abashed laugh.

"So do you in your nice green dress. Like a sweet spring meadow."

And Peter's gallantry was rewarded with a delighted giggle.

Edmund shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. Peter was so meant for this life, for nobility and for kingship.

As quickly as he could, Edmund pulled on the breeches and boots and then the chain mail and tunic. Everything fit him like second skin and made him feel fresh and cool and surprisingly relieved, as if his very flesh had ached for the touch of such things. Once dressed, he bundled his old clothes into his overcoat and went back to the others.

"Better to get this done and over if we're going to do it at all."

Peter looked him up and down and then bowed formally. "Delighted to see you again, oh Just King."

Edmund didn't smile. "What should I do with these?"

"I put mine back in the chest," Peter said, a flicker of hurt in his eyes. "I thought we could put it over there in the trees and cover it with some brush. We might need the things again."

Edmund merely nodded in response. Then he put on one of his gloves and fished the green and yellow rings from his overcoat pocket. He took the other glove and dropped the rings carefully into it before folding it into a secure little packet and putting it into the pocket of his breeches.

"You have yours, too, right?"

When he got no reply, he finally looked over to see Peter suddenly rummaging through the clothing already stored in the chest.

"Peter!"

"I was just about to." With a scapegrace grin, Peter wrapped his rings in one of his gloves as Edmund had done and then pocketed them. "Don't look at me that way. I was."

He had to get Peter out of here while he still could. Before he decided to forget everything else and just stay.

_Aslan, help me_, he pled wordlessly, and then he looked down at the sword that awaited him. It wasn't Rhindon of course, but it was a thing of gleaming beauty. It would feel good to have such a blade at his side again. Aslan's provision? He still wasn't sure.

He strapped the belt round his waist and then reached for the sword itself. The instant he touched it, the whole world reeled, and again he saw that black and ruined landscape. Again the stench of death rose from the blood-fouled river. The oppressive force of it drove him to his knees with a moan.

An instant later, he was sucking down the fresh, grass-scented air, and Peter was kneeling too, shaking him, blue eyes wide with fear.

"Edmund! Ed!"

Edmund pitched forward, and Peter caught him in both arms. After a moment, Edmund tried to pull away, but Peter pushed his head back against his mail-clad shoulder, holding him there.

"Just wait," Peter murmured. "Wait till you're steady. Was it another vision?"

"Yeah," Edmund panted. "Let me– let me up."

Peter released him and he pushed himself away, sitting back on his heels, covering his mouth with his hands, waiting for the heaving in his chest and in his gut to still.

"Are you all right, Ed?"

Edmund closed his eyes and nodded rapidly. "I just didn't want to be sick on your new clothes."

That made Peter laugh faintly, but his eyes were worried. "Was it the same? The vision?"

Edmund exhaled, feeling his racing heart slow. "Do think that's really what it is? What will happen if you don't save King Tirian? If the king doesn't save the king?"

Peter nodded. "That's what Aslan said."

"Aslan." Edmund glanced at the little girl standing with wide, frightened eyes next to them, and lowered his voice so only Peter could hear. "How do we know it's Aslan she's hearing? Why hasn't He spoken to us? Why hasn't He come to us?"

Peter's forehead wrinkled. "I– Just the way she described the Voice. It must be Aslan. She's had the same visions as you."

"But she never said it was Aslan."

"Perhaps she doesn't know Him yet." Peter smiled a little. "We all have to start somewhere. Perhaps she's never even heard of Him."

Edmund shook his head warily, remembering the long ago time when he had himself been called a cheeky little blighter for even asking who Aslan was. "Not heard of Aslan? In Narnia?"

"We don't really know how long it's been this time," Peter reasoned. "Last time for me, an English year meant thirteen hundred here. Last time for you, an English year was only three of Narnia's. It's seven years for us since then. This King Tirian could be Caspian's son just now grown up or the son of someone totally unrelated ten thousand years later."

"But no matter when we came, Peter, Aslan was here. Always."

"Peter. Peter, please." Amice tugged at Peter's sleeve. "I don't want it to happen, that terrible black place. Please, we have to go. Joss needs us."

"All right, Amice. Just a minute." Peter turned back to his brother. "We'd better push on, don't you think?"

His thoughts still a whirl, Edmund looked into the blue eyes that, despite their concern, were suddenly eager and pleading. _Aslan, show us._

"Ed?" Peter urged, and Edmund finally nodded.

"I follow my High King."

There was a flash of raw emotion in Peter's eyes, and then he grinned a little self-consciously and helped Edmund to his feet.

"You might want this as well, Ed."

He picked up the sword, offering it, and Edmund took a wary step back from it. "You don't–"

He closed his eyes, steeling himself, and then grasped the hilt of the sword.

Nothing happened.

"What is it, Ed?"

Edmund slid the blade into the sheath at his hip. "The sword. You didn't– It wasn't–"

"Wasn't what? What are you talking about?"

Sudden sweat beaded on Edmund's upper lip. "When I touched it a minute ago, it was cold as ice."

OOOOO

As they had discussed, Peter and Edmund carried the chest containing their old clothes over into the trees and concealed it under the brush. Then they headed downstream once again. Peter couldn't look into Amice's worried little face and do anything else. Her brother had been taken back to the village to be put to work. That meant he would be at least kept alive. But that didn't mean he wasn't in need of rescuing– him, the whole village, Narnia herself. Peter was glad of the comforting weight of Rhindon at his hip.

He glanced at Edmund struggling alongside him. "Knee bothering you?"

Edmund only shrugged. "It's all right."

Peter could see he still had reservations about what they were doing, but he knew, too, that that wouldn't make him turn back. As always, Edmund would take the adventure Aslan sent to him, fearless and unflinching. But what if Aslan hadn't sent this adventure? Peter frowned at the uncomfortable thought. He glanced at Amice who was scurrying a few yards ahead of them and then back at his brother.

"Ed?"

"Um?"

Edmund was getting a little breathless again, so Peter pulled up.

"Maybe we should stop for a minute. Amice will be getting tired."

Edmund pulled up, too. "You don't need to worry about me. I'll keep up."

"I'm not worried. Not about you anyway."

"You're always worried about me." Edmund's scowl turned into knowing half smile. "Mum."

Peter grinned back. "All right, suppose I am. My job, isn't it?"

"Maybe."

Edmund started walking again, a little slower than before, but his limp was less noticeable. Working harder to cover it up no doubt.

Peter watched him for a moment and then hurried to catch him up. "You could go back you know. I shouldn't like you to, Ed, but you could. I know you're not sure about all this."

Edmund's dark eyes flashed, and he kept walking. "Why? So you can call me a coward again? So you can prove precisely how much you don't need me?"

Shamed by what he had said earlier, Peter grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. "I'm sorry about all that, Ed. I hope you'll forgive me. Please know I never meant a word of it."

"I know." Edmund shrugged a little. "I suppose it was rather beastly of me to bring that up again now. After we'd already made it up. Sorry."

"Still–"

"But don't tell me to go, Peter. I'm not sure what's happening here or if we haven't muddled into something we should have stayed out of, but I'm here. I'm in it with you. I'm not going."

_I follow my High King._

A choking tightness came up into Peter's throat and a there was a sudden burning in his eyes. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you stick with me? You know very well what a thoughtless idiot I can be." Peter laughed before he had to cry. "And an ass, to be sure, and a lummox besides."

Edmund shrugged, a little color coming into his face as he looked down at his boots. "Couldn't let you just blunder about on your own. No telling what trouble you'd get yourself into."

Peter considered letting it go at that. Edmund, more than likely, would never admit to anything more. Still, he couldn't leave it alone.

He put his hands on either side of his brother's face, forcing him to look up.

"Why, Ed?"

Edmund took hold of his wrists, briefly trying to pull his hands away. Then he stopped still, and his eyes, locked on Peter's, were even darker than usual. Finally, he looked at his boots again, and his voice, when he spoke, was soft.

"Aslan forgave me, loved me, even when I betrayed Him and went to the White Witch. I can never forget that. I can't do anything but keep faith with Him and never leave following after Him."

"I know, but–"

"You forgave me, too."

He looked again into Peter's eyes, holding him there until at last it was Peter who looked away, the quiet words cutting him to the heart. Four little words that explained everything.

_You forgave me, too._

Peter slid his hands from Edmund's face to his shoulders, kneading his fingers into the back of his neck, leaning forward until their foreheads touched.

_He who is forgiven much loves much._

"Ed, I forgave you because–"

"I know why. I know."

"Because I–"

Edmund ducked his head against Peter's shoulder, his tight embrace cutting off what he would have said.

"I know," he murmured. "It's enough."

With another laugh, Peter shoved him away, making sure to muss his dark hair in the same motion. "Go on."

Edmund glared at him, smoothing his hair with both hands. "You're still an ass."

He turned and almost ran over Amice coming from ahead of them.

"Please, won't you come?" She was breathless and red faced from hurrying. "You can see the village from just over the next hill there."

"We'd best not let anyone see us quite yet," Edmund advised.

They moved from the side of the river into the cover of the trees and then made their way stealthily up to the crest of the hill, but they might as well have saved their effort.

Below them, all that was left of the village was a burned patch of ground.


	6. The Gorge

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

THE GORGE

With a cry, Amice rushed down to the blackened place where her little village had once stood.

"Come back!" Peter ran after her. "Amice, come back!"

He caught up to her and pulled her close, holding her head against him so she couldn't see the ruins anymore, so she couldn't see the burnt trees, the charred remains of homes and barns, the blackened stubble of wheat and corn in the fields.

"Joss," she wailed. "You didn't save Joss. You promised, Peter. You promised. You promised."

She beat her little fists against his chest and he let her, knowing he had failed – failed her and Joss, the whole village, maybe all of Narnia. _Oh, Aslan_–

He looked pleadingly at Edmund as he came up to them, but Edmund only looked away from him, away from Amice, his eyes dark with guilt.

Peter caught him by the arm and pulled him close, too. "Don't do it, Edmund. I swear– Just don't do it. It's not your–"

"I slowed you down when you wanted to come right away." Edmund dropped his forehead to Peter's shoulder and then immediately shoved himself away, turning instead to pace, fists clenched, along the burnt edge of the grass. "I– I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know what I'm supposed to think. How can we even be here? Aslan said–"

"I hate you!" Amice glared up at Edmund, her eyes full of tears and accusation. "Peter was supposed to save them. He was supposed to save Joss. The voice told me so. And you made him too slow. I hate you! I hate you!"

She looked as if she would fly at him, but Peter held her still against him, stroking her hair, soothing her with wordless murmurs as she broke into tears again. Peter winced at the shattered look on his brother's face, his own regrets suddenly unimportant.

"She doesn't mean it, Ed. She couldn't."

Edmund wouldn't look at him. "Why not? It's not the first time I've cost someone his life. Why shouldn't everyone in the world, in all the worlds, hate me?"

Peter wanted to go to him, to comfort him somehow, but Amice was still clinging to him, sobbing her little heart out. He couldn't push her away now.

"Don't do it, Edmund. Don't think that way. That's so far in the past. It's even longer ago than how old we are now, do you realize?"

Edmund nodded dumbly.

Peter gave him a bit of a coaxing smile. "And Aslan wanted to do that for you, didn't He? You were worth that much to Him. Oughtn't you to leave it at that? What do you think He would tell you now?"

Edmund's chin sunk to his chest. "Doesn't matter. I don't seem to hear Him properly anymore. The vision is coming true, and I let it happen."

_Oh, Eddie, don't. Please don't. If you lose faith, what am I to do? _Peter turned his face to the clear sky. _Aslan, please._

"No." Edmund squeezed his eyes shut and then lifted his head, his face suddenly changed from hopeless despair to an almost angry intensity. "No. It's not right. It's not right."

"Edmund–"

"Where are they?"

"Where–?"

Edmund scanned the blackened area. "Where are the bodies?

Peter only stared, uncomprehending. Then the breath shuddered out of him in a near laugh, and he wondered how he hadn't seen it before. "Look, Amice. Look. No bodies. It's just the village. The people aren't here. Joss isn't here, sweetheart."

He clutched the girl closer, wanting to sob with her.

She turned her tear-stained face up to him. "Where do you think they are? Did the wolves take everyone away?"

Edmund was already looking for signs in the trampled grass. "They went this way, Pete. Downstream. And some not under their own steam."

Amice's eyes were urgent again. "Oh, Peter."

"We'll get them, Amice. We will. How far ahead do you think, Ed?"

Edmund looked again at the ground and then up at the sky, eyes narrowed. "A few hours, I guess. But we ought to stop somewhere soon. Don't you suppose we ought to eat?"

Peter blinked. "I dunno. I hadn't thought of that. Thing is, I'm not the least bit hungry. What about you?"

Edmund shook his head. "Not at all. Mum wouldn't believe it." He grinned at little unsteadily and then looked up at the sky again. "We've been here hours now. Oughtn't it to be getting dark soon?"

Peter looked up, too. Still the sun hung smiling in the clear blue sky. It ought to be drawing towards dusk. Maybe things had happened more quickly than he thought.

He leaned down and brushed a strand of blonde hair from Amice's face. "What about you, sweetheart? Are you hungry?"

Amice shook her head. "I just want to find Joss. Please, Peter. Before it's too late. Please."

"Ed?"

Edmund looked at both of them, his expression unreadable, until Amice pulled away from Peter and went to him.

"I'm sorry I was mean to you, Edmund. I didn't mean it." She clasped her hands behind her and looked up at him with her guileless blue eyes. "Joss is my brother. I don't want something to happen to him."

Edmund glanced at Peter and then looked back at the girl, his expression softening just slightly.

"I know. Come on."

They trudged on, always downstream. Towards the Cair, Peter knew, and he couldn't help the increase in his pulse, the eager beating in his blood when he thought of it. Cair Paravel. Home. He had to have just a glimpse. Now that he'd come this far, he had to see. The last time he'd been to Narnia, the Cair had stood in heartrending ruins, but he had heard that Caspian had rebuilt the castle during his reign. Peter had to see it once more. He needed a fresh picture to carry with him for all the coming years he would never see it again.

Amice hurried ahead of them, always looking back, urging them to follow, to waste no more time. Edmund tried more and more to keep up, tried to hide the pain in his knee, but he was struggling. Finally, he leaned against a tree, panting and grimacing.

"No." Amice scurried back to him. "We need to go. Peter, tell him we have to go."

"You're going to have to be patient a minute, Amice. Edmund hurt his knee a bit ago, and it's hard for him to walk this much on it." Peter took his brother's arm. "Do we need to take a breather?"

Edmund looked annoyed with himself, but he nodded.

"Better sit down then," Peter advised, but Amice pushed herself between the two brothers.

"I know what to do. I can help."

Peter smiled at her. It was so like Lucy, her wanting to help, even if she couldn't really do anything.

"It's all right, Amice. Ed's just going to take a minute to rest, and then we'll go on."

"No, I can help." She put her hand on Edmund's bad knee and began rubbing it gently.

The irritated grimace on Edmund's pale face suddenly melted into astonishment.

"What– What did you do?"

The girl giggled, her face alight. "The voice told me. Is it better now?"

Edmund glanced at Peter and then nodded at Amice. "Yes. Uh . . . thank you."

She rolled her eyes. "It wasn't me, silly."

Peter grinned and hugged her. "It was Aslan, wasn't it?"

"It was the voice. I– I don't–"

Peter dropped to one knee beside her, eyes level with hers. "Aslan is the great Lion. His father is the Emperor-over-the-Sea. He's the one who made Narnia. Sometimes He speaks to us, to help us."

"I'm– I'm afraid of cats."

Peter gave her a reassuring smile. "Aslan can be rather fierce sometimes, but He is always good. He loves us. Didn't He tell you not to be afraid when you were in the tree?"

She drew back from him. "A cat hurt me before. When I was little."

She pulled down the neckline of her dress, exposing a part of her chest and right shoulder. There were deep scars, claw marks, that disappeared under the lacings of her bodice.

Peter put his arm around her. "I'm sorry. That must have been very frightening for you. But you don't have to worry about Aslan. He can see what's in your heart, and He would never hurt a good little girl like you."

She smiled, a little uncertain, a little hopeful, and Peter got to his feet again.

"What do you say, Ed? Ready to run the hundred?"

Edmund bent his knee and then twisted his leg every way it would go. Obviously there was no more pain. "It's–"

He shook his head, bewildered, and Peter squeezed his shoulder. "A miracle."

They followed the river downstream, more swiftly now than before. Amice still led them on, and now Edmund had no trouble keeping up with her. Every once in a while, he would find signs that someone had passed that way ahead of them.

"I think we're gaining on them," he said, squinting further down river. "These tracks are pretty fresh."

Peter looked around them, taking in the mountains and forest that surrounded them. "It's not far now, is it?"

Edmund only shot him a worried glance and then started walking again, more swiftly than before. Whatever lay ahead of them, he seemed as eager as Peter to get to it. Get to it and get back to England, no doubt.

After a while, Amice led them a little ways south, away from the river. Then she stopped abruptly, looking puzzled. "I know we're supposed to go this way."

But "this way" was a dizzying drop to a smaller river below.

"It's the same gorge, Ed."

Edmund nodded. "So it seems."

Peter looked over the edge. They had crossed from the opposite side of this gorge when they had first come from the ruins of Cair Paravel the last time he had been to Narnia. He couldn't help remembering again how Aslan had showed Lucy the way across and that he hadn't been wise enough to follow her.

"Hurry," Amice said, running back to take his hand. "We need to hurry."

Peter leaned down to her. "Has Aslan spoken to you again?"

She grinned. "This way. Hurry."

She led them to a narrow part of the gorge. The other side was twelve or fifteen feet away, but there was a fallen tree that bridged the gap. Before Peter could stop her, she climbed up on it.

"Amice, wait."

"It's all right, Peter. This is the way we need to go."

With another smile, she scampered across. "Come on. Hurry."

Peter looked back at his brother.

Edmund's face was grim, but he only nodded towards the makeshift bridge. Needing no more invitation, Peter crossed over, making his steps as light as possible, unsure that the tree would bear his weight. It shifted a little under him, but held steady enough. Once on the other side, he turned to Edmund.

"Come on. It's not far to the Cair now."

"What about the people from the village?" Edmund asked abruptly. "They couldn't have crossed here. Not all of them."

Peter glanced at Amice. "I don't know. Do you see any more tracks?"

Edmund looked around, eyes narrowed. "Not now."

"We can cross here and pick them up again near the river, don't you think, Ed?"

Again Peter glanced at the girl. She was fairly dancing with urgency. And Cair Paravel lay ahead of them. But Edmund–

_I follow my High King._ However reluctantly.

"Ed?"

Edmund only bit his lip and started across. He was lithe and light footed, moving swiftly and easily.

"Come on, you great lummox," Peter said, teasing from him the first real grin he'd seen in what seemed ages.

Then, just as he was almost across, his knee buckled. Arms flailing, he scrambled to keep from falling, frantic to grab hold of the tree, the branches, anything, but he only managed to catch empty air. The last Peter saw was his dark eyes wide with terror in his ghost-pale face as he vanished into the chasm with the tree crashing down after him.

"Edmund!"

**Shall I go on with the story?**


	7. The Castle

THE CASTLE

"Edmund!" Peter's heart thrashed in his chest. "Edmund!"

"No, Peter! No! It's too late!" Amice grabbed the hem of his tunic, trying to pull him back. "It's too late!"

"No!"

He shoved her off, hard enough to land her on her backside in the grass, and scrambled to the edge of the gorge. The little river was a sickening distance below them, and tears sprang to his eyes. _Aslan. Aslan, please no– _

"No," he half-gasped, half-laughed. "It's there. Let _him_ be there, too. Please, Aslan."

The top of the tree that had served as their makeshift bridge was wedged into a crevice in an outcropping of rock perhaps ten feet below. The bottom of the tree was sticking up now at an angle, caught in some roots only about two feet down from the edge of the gorge. Could it be–

"Edmund, please be down there."

Peter thought he saw a glimpse of a midnight blue tunic in the tree limbs and part of one brown leather boot and, just maybe, oh, Aslan, please, a familiar tangle of black hair.

"Edmund! Ed! Can you hear me?" There was no response. "He's down there, Amice."

"Impossible," Amice gasped as she looked over the edge from beside him, and then her eyes lit. "Oh, Peter, isn't it wonderful?"

He didn't have time to think about her right now. He had to get Edmund out of there. He took his sword and its sheath off his belt and left them in the grass. Their weight would only hinder him, but he'd need the belt.

"You'd better stay back a bit. I don't want you to fall."

He touched the tree trunk gingerly with one foot. It seemed steady enough.

"Don't go, Peter. You'll fall. Please don't."

"Stay back."

As soon as his full weight was on the tree, it gave a heart-stopping lurch, jolting three or four inches deeper into the crevice and then holding fast. He clung there for a minute more, waiting for his heart to slow, breathing half-coherent thanks, and then he climbed further down.

Edmund was caught by one arm and leg in the branches, but most of his weight was supported by the same outcropping of rock that had snared the tree.

"I'm coming, Eddie," Peter told him, though he could see he was insensible. "You hang on."

Finally he reached his brother. He pressed one hand to Edmund's throat and then to his wrist and was heartened by the steady beat of blood he felt there. He was alive.

It was a delicate thing untangling Edmund's clothes and limbs from the tree, but Peter somehow he managed it without sending them both hurtling into the gorge. The hard part would be getting back up to the top.

"Be careful," Amice called down to him, her eyes round and anxious. "Oh, don't fall."

"You stay back," he warned her again. "I'll be back up in a minute."

He wasn't quite sure how he did it except by the Lion's grace, but he managed to strap Edmund's wrists together with his sword belt and then maneuver him onto his back. With Edmund's arms around his neck, his own hands were free to haul them both back up.

_Don't look down. Don't look down. Don't look down._

He could feel the dead weight of Edmund's body dragging him backwards, dragging them both down. Their combined weight made the tree shift when they were halfway up, and Peter had to stop, arms and legs trembling, stomach clenching, until he had breath and wit enough to go on.

At last he was pulling them both into the grass at the top of the gorge, and Amice was standing over him with childlike worship in her eyes.

"You did it. Oh, you did it! I knew you could. You'll get Joss back, too. I'm sure you will."

Still panting, Peter unstrapped Edmund's wrists and laid him as gently as he could on the ground. Then he knelt beside him and stroked the unruly dark hair from his forehead.

"I can't even remember a time when you weren't here for me to look after. I can't imagine–" His voice broke, and he cupped Edmund's pale cheek in his hand. "Please be all right, Eddie. You know I'm never any good without you."

He closed his eyes, breathing hard, feeling the strength drain out of him now that it was all over. _Oh, Aslan, thank You for bringing us both back. Please let him be all right._

"Peter?"

Peter opened his eyes to find Edmund looking at him, his dark eyes bewildered looking but clear.

"Edmund. Never scare me like that again."

Edmund managed an unconvincing scowl. "Yes, well, I decided to nearly kill myself just to annoy you."

Peter smiled. "Great luck that the tree fell the way it did though."

Edmund narrowed his eyes. "Luck, Peter? Really?"

"No. What was I thinking?"

Laughing shakily, Peter pulled him into a hug and then sat him up. "What happened to you? I thought you were getting across just fine."

"So did I. Then my knee gave out on me. It was like pulling the linchpin out of an axle and having the wheel come off." Edmund glanced at Amice. "I'm not sure I can stand on it much anymore now."

"You must have given your skull a pretty good crack, too. You were out cold."

Edmund pressed one hand against the side of his head and grimaced.

"Just as I thought," Peter said. "You'd better lie down again."

"Peter, we can't stop here." Amice twisted her fingers together, her eyes wide and pleading. "We have to get Joss. It's going to be night soon, and we won't be able to find the tracks again."

Peter and Edmund both looked up. The sun was hanging almost down to the mountains now, and it was decidedly cooler. It wouldn't do Edmund any good to lie out in the open all night.

"Where do you think we could find some shelter, Amice?" Peter asked. "Is there another village this way?"

"I don't think so. But Cair Par'vel is just through the forest and down the hill. Maybe we could go there."

Peter felt the familiar rushing in his heart at the name. Cair Paravel. Home.

"Do you think you could make it, Ed? You really ought to have some sleep."

Edmund looked as if he might object, and then he froze, screwing his eyes shut, his face a grimace of pain.

"Edmund." Peter grabbed his shoulder. "Edmund."

Edmund gasped and his eyes flew open wide. "Not again. Not again."

"The vision?"

"Worse this time." Edmund's voice shook, and he dug his fingers into Peter's upper arm. "Cair Paravel. It was like everything else. Just a burned out ruin. Still standing but gutted and empty and cold. So cold."

He dropped his head into his hands, fighting to slow his breathing back to normal.

Renewed urgency pounded in Peter's veins, and he swiftly strapped Rhindon to his side again. "We've got to get there. Ed, do you think you can? We've got to do something before what you're seeing becomes reality."

Edmund clenched his jaw, but finally he nodded, and Peter hauled him to his feet.

"Lean on me."

Amice led them through the trees and over the hill, and finally it came into Peter's sight, the shining castle on the glistening sea. Cair Paravel. They were almost home.

"It's all right, Ed." Peter shifted the arm he had around his brother's waist, getting a better hold on him. "We're not too late."

Edmund made no reply. He hadn't said anything since they had started walking. Peter could see the increasing exhaustion on his pale face and feel it in his stumbling steps. It was coming on full darkness now, and it would be good for all of them to sleep.

"Come on, Peter," Amice called.

Peter could see little more than the green of her dress as she scurried ahead of them down the gentle slopes that led to the castle. Then he followed the patter of her bare feet over the drawbridge and they were in the courtyard. Surely there was a room here that could be spared for the Kings of Old. Even if no one acknowledged them as kings anymore, there had to be at least a place in the stables for weary travelers. Edmund was practically hanging limp at his side. He needed a bed of some kind and soon.

"Hello?"

Peter was answered with nothing but silence, and his brother's wary words came back to him. _Narnia was never a silent place. Why is there no one here but us?_

"Hello!" he called again, and Amice came back and caught his hand.

"This way, Peter. We need to go inside. Edmund should lie down."

She led him through the empty hallways until he realized he was in the audience chamber before the four thrones. Would Caspian have had four thrones placed here when he rebuilt the castle? It didn't seem–

"Here, Peter. Don't you think this will be a good place?"

Amice showed him to a pile of velvet cushions in one corner of the room, and Peter settled his brother on them.

"We're here, Ed. At the Cair. You can rest a while."

A little more alert now, Edmund struggled to sit up. "Peter, I don't think–"

"Shh." Amice put her little hand over his heart. "Sleep now, Edmund. You need to sleep."

He sank back into the cushions, murmuring something Peter didn't catch, and then he lay still. Peter smiled to hear his breathing slow into sleep, but he was too pale. Far too pale.

He put one hand on Edmund's forehead. It was cool, maybe a little clammy. He'd have to watch him for signs of concussion. It wouldn't be the first time.

"He'll sleep now," Amice said, and her voice was so odd that Peter had to look at her again to make sure she was the one who had spoken.

"Where is everyone, Amice? Why is there no one here?"

"I don't know." She stood over him as he knelt at Edmund's side, a little smile on her face that seemed much too knowing for a child her age. "Why would you want anyone else?"

And then he realized she was no longer a child but a woman grown, enticing and ethereal with golden hair flowing in tendrils around her and her gown as green as poison.

He leapt to his feet, keeping himself between her and Edmund. "Who are you? What's happening here?"

"Only what you wanted to happen."

"I–"

"You have everything you want now. Your castle. Your kingdom. And if you wish for something more, all you need do is say so. I will make it for you."

"Why? Who are you?"

Still she smiled that knowing smile, seeming somehow taller than before. And the poison green of her dress and the gold of her hair turned to an arctic white. Everything about her was white except the livid claw marks on her shoulder and across her chest.

"Surely you cannot have forgotten me." She smirked. "Little King."

"Jadis." Peter ripped his sword from its sheath, brandishing it at her. "You're dead. You're dead."

She laughed, but there was no humor in her soulless black eyes. "Yes, and it's so convenient being dead. So much more . . . flexible."

"You can't be here. You're dead."

"Ah, but this is my home. It's where I came from before I went into your world."

She lifted one white hand, and everything around them changed. The warmth and grace of Cair Paravel's throne room was replaced with the blasted ruins of Edmund's vision, a shadowed and cavernous maw of death and destruction in reddish half-light, scarred with war and stained with blood. What Edmund had seen was not a glimpse of what might come but a warning of what truly lay beneath the witch's illusions. Aslan's warning. A warning Peter had ignored.

"My home," the witch repeated. "My prison. My hell."

"I thought–"

"You thought you were in Narnia? Silly boy, neither of us can go back there. Your Great Lion has banished us both, but that doesn't mean we cannot have our own Narnia here."

Once more she lifted her hand, and he saw the throne room again just as he remembered it, just as it was when he and Edmund and their sisters had been crowned kings and queens.

_Once a king or queen . . . _

Still she smiled. "I can give it all back to you."

And suddenly his chain mail was gone and he was decked in the velvets and silks of a reigning monarch. He could feel the once-familiar weight of his crown on his head. She nodded towards one of the windows, and he turned to see his reflection in it. High King . . .

"Magnificent," she whispered. "Do you really want to return to that dreary Other Place He would send you to? Do you want to go back and be nothing again? You could stay here with me and rule forever."

Rhindon shook in his hand, but he held it between them still. "No."

"What fun we could have." She smiled as if he hadn't spoken. "And you needn't be alone. Do you want a little sister to protect and care for? I can be that."

For an instant she seemed to shimmer, and then golden-haired Lucy was standing before him, a little girl again, looking up at him with adoration in her blue eyes.

"We can play hide and seek."

She came towards him, holding her arms out as if she would embrace him, and he stepped back, almost stumbling over the velvet cushions on the floor.

"Don't touch me."

"Come on, Peter, please."

She gave him that playful, pleading grin that had always melted his heart, and he wanted to be sick.

"You're not Lucy."

She pouted. "All right. Would you rather have a little brother to adventure with?"

With another shimmer, she became Edmund, tall and clean-limbed, dark hair against fair skin, dark eyes full of mischief.

"Come on, Pete. Always together, eh? Sword and shield. Think what fun we'd have here, and He could never send us back again."

"You're not–" Peter glanced behind him. Edmund was lying pale and still on the cushions at his feet.

"Come on." As the imitation Lucy had, the false Edmund approached him with open arms. "Brother."

"No!" Peter brought his blade to the image's throat. It wasn't Edmund. It wasn't.

But it looked at him with Edmund's expressive eyes, eyes that had always been able to cut him to the heart, pleading, wounded eyes.

"You wouldn't hurt me, would you, Peter? Not after all we've been through together."

"Not real," Peter breathed. "Not real. Not real."

"I'll be better than the real thing. He was always telling you things you didn't want to hear– that you must go back, that the Lion's will was more important than your own. Where's the fun in that? I wouldn't be that stuffy. Think of all the adventures we could have here, and we need never really grow up."

"Ed was right. He was right, and I should have listened. Oh, Aslan, I should have listened to You–"

The false Edmund vanished, replaced by the White Witch, and for the first time there was anger in her soulless black eyes.

"You will not speak that Name, do you hear me, boy? Never again."

Now it was Peter who smiled. "Aslan. You still have no power over Him."

She shrugged one elegant shoulder. "Then why have you chosen me?"

"Never. I would never choose you."

"Ah, but you have, Peter dear. Every time you haven't chosen Him, you've chosen me. Every time you think your way is better than His, you've chosen me." She opened her arms to him, beckoning. "And now you have me."

He pointed his blade at her. "Never."

"But what good does it do to resist now, Little King. You've disobeyed Him. Now He's abandoned you. You have nowhere else to turn."

"No!"

With all the force he possessed, he thrust Rhindon into her laughing throat, but the sword only crumbled into ash in his hands.

"Did you think I'd send you something you could actually use against me?" She stepped closer to him, black eyes fixed on his. "But you wouldn't want to hurt me, would you? Not really."

Again he stepped back, and this time he did stumble over the cushions, falling at her feet, his faux crown clattering to the stone floor.

She loomed over him. "We all find what we seek, and you know, in your heart of hearts, you've always wanted me."

"No," he breathed. "Aslan, please–"

The rings. They had been in his pocket all along.

Heart racing, he reached for them. Then he realized he was now dressed in the kingly garments she had provided. The pocket he'd put the rings into had vanished, the rings along with it. But Edmund still–

The witch smirked at him. "I remember the last time we met. At the How. You were just a boy then, but I saw it in your eyes. You wanted me."

He reached towards Edmund's pocket, reached towards the last pair of rings, but she brought her foot down on his forearm with surprising force, pinning him where he was, smiling at his cry of pain.

"More than the power, you wanted me."

"No."

"You've always wanted me." She grabbed the front of his velvet tunic with one hand and brought him to his feet as if he'd been no more than a child. Then she pushed him against the wall, holding him there, her black eyes glittering with an insinuation that made his body tremble and his blood race. "Haven't you?"

"No."

It was more of a whimper than defiance.

She pressed closer, eyes aflame, moist lips almost touching his. "You're a man now, aren't you? Or are you? Show me."

He closed his eyes.

_Aslan . . _.

OOOOO

Edmund didn't know how long he'd been out or what pierced his unconsciousness– a whimper, a groan or a scream. Something not right. Where was he now? He looked around in the reddish half-light, around the cold, burned-out ruin of an unfamiliar castle's great hall, a place that belonged in the visions he had been seeing. Finally he saw something he recognized.

"Peter."

Peter was huddled against the far wall of the chamber, knees to his chest, head resting against them, arms shielding his face. Where had he gotten those clothes? He seemed dressed for a coronation or, perhaps, the funeral of a king.

Edmund struggled to his feet and limped over to him, hardly able to put any weight on his injured knee. "Peter? Are you all right?" Getting no response, he shook his brother's shoulder. "Pete."

Peter only curled more tightly in on himself, muttering something unintelligible, ending in a low moan, and the dread that had dogged Edmund since they had left England grew a hundredfold. He tried to turn Peter's face up to him, but Peter only flinched away.

"No. Don't touch me."

Edmund's heartbeat sped up. Why did Peter sound so . . . wrong?

"Come on, Peter," Edmund whispered, the sound harsh, sibilant in the cavernous chamber. "Please. You're scaring me."

Finally Peter looked up at him. His face was white as paper, but even in the dimness, Edmund could see it was streaked as if he had wept. And his eyes–

His eyes were black.


	8. The Sight

**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.**

THE SIGHT

"Peter."

Edmund's voice was hardly a whisper in the ruined chamber. He reached one trembling hand towards his brother's ashen face and then drew it back.

"Peter," he whispered again, and he couldn't seem to squeeze any other word from his throat.

Peter's eyes were black, so black Edmund couldn't distinguish iris from pupil, and there was nothing but crushing pain in their depths. Ever since Amice pressed her hand over his heart, Edmund had been swept into swirling darkness, a darkness he had fought until it finally, reluctantly, released him. Now he wondered if this was just a part of that darkness. A dream. A nightmare. Peter's eyes were blue, the blue of clear summer skies, not this endless, hopeless black.

"Peter," he began a third time. "What happened?"

Peter turned his face away with a whimper, and Edmund seized him by the shoulders.

"What happened to you, Peter? Where's Amice? Peter. Peter!"

Edmund forced him to look up, forced himself to look into the terrible blackness of his eyes.

Peter's lips trembled and he grasped Edmund's wrist, holding desperately to him. "Don't."

"Peter–"

"Don't leave me, Ed. Please."

"Peter, what–"

"Don't leave me. I'm sorry. Don't leave me. Don't leave me."

Ignoring the pain in his knee, Edmund knelt down and pulled him close, holding his head to his shoulder, feeling his body shake as he sobbed.

"Shh. Shh. It's all right, Peter. It's all right. I won't leave."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Why didn't you keep it from happening? Why wouldn't you wake up?"

"Tell me, Peter. What? Where's Amice? What happened to you?"

The shaking grew worse. "She– She– I can't."

"Peter, tell me!"

"She wasn't a little girl at all. She was–"

Peter's voice dropped so low, Edmund had to lean closer to try to hear him.

"Tell me. Peter, please."

And Peter leaned up and pressed a kiss to Edmund's lips.

Edmund shoved him away. "What are you do–"

There was a wicked gleam in the black eyes, and Peter's mouth twisted into a taunting cold smile, a smile Edmund could never mistake. An icy chill ran through him.

"Jadis."

Her laugh was nothing like Peter's. Not warm and golden. Not human.

"Miss me?"

An old, cold pain pierced Edmund just under the ribs. "You're supposed to be dead."

"Yes," she said in a voice that was and wasn't Peter's. "And so are you. Remember that first battle? And you were so very naughty and broke my beautiful wand."

"What have you done to him?"

"It's lovely to have a real body again." She stretched Peter's arms sensuously over his head, stretching his lean frame, clearly relishing the play of each sleek muscle, smiling her evil smile. "And such a nice one as well, even if it is pitifully human."

Fury boiled through Edmund's veins. "Leave him alone!"

He drew his sword and again it was like ice in his hands. Still she only smiled.

"Let me make it easier for you." She bowed Peter's head, baring his neck for the blade.

Edmund froze. No, he couldn't. No.

She turned her black eyes up at him. Her eyes. Not Peter's.

"When you're ready." She twisted Peter's mouth into a smirk. "Son of Adam."

"Leave him alone!" Edmund demanded again, and again she merely laughed.

"Or what, Edmund dear? You have no ground to make demands. Your brother gave himself to me. Willingly."

Edmund shook his head. "No."

"Ah, but, yes. You remember before. At the How. Before you so rudely interrupted us. He would have done it then. He wanted to. He very much wanted to." She made an airy gesture with Peter's hand. "It was inevitable."

"You bewitched him."

"He gave himself to me. As you did once."

Edmund shivered at the memory and then realized something white and delicate was falling from above, swirling around him, banking against the walls and landing on his hair and eyelashes. But it wasn't cold.

It was sweet.

The taste of confectioners sugar was on his lips and, with a rush, his stomach knotted with the hunger he should have felt hours before. The memory of Turkish Delight both drew and repelled him.

"He gave himself to me," she said again, and her voice was beckoning and taunting all at once. "Of course, it wasn't for sweets this time, but pretty swords and pretty clothes. Pretty dreams. But there's no Lion to save him now. He's abandoned you both."

"Aslan would never abandon us."

"But obviously He has. He's left you both here with me, to do with as I please. It's not too late yet, Edmund. You can come back to me. You can still be a king."

"And rule over what?" Edmund gestured to the ruin around them. "This?"

Peter's mouth smiled. "This."

With another wave of Peter's hand, the sugar snow stopped and everything around Edmund shimmered. He was standing in Cair Paravel at the height of her glory, in the Great Hall with the ivory roof and the western door hung with peacock feathers and the eastern door that opened right onto the blessed sea. He could almost have wept at the beauty of it, stirring in him as it did all the aching memories of when he and his brother and sisters had been kings and queens in that most golden age. But it wasn't real. Aslan had showed him time and again.

"It's a lie," he spat. "What place is this? It's not Narnia."

The vision melted and he was again surrounded by blasted desolation.

"This? This is Charn, my home. It's where I came from before I went into your world."

"You were always a liar," Edmund said. "Charn is dead. The Professor told us what Aslan said to him. Charn is ended as if it had never been."

She merely drew Peter's mouth down in a pout and shrugged his shoulders. "What does it matter. This is what eventually comes of any place I'm given to rule. What better prison could He make for me but the destruction of my own making? And what better revenge could I have on you all than to bring His chosen ones to suffer it with me?"

Edmund thought of the folded glove in the pocket of his breeches. "I'll use the rings then. This is your hell, not mine."

"It was enough for your brother. You wouldn't want to be separated from him." She traced Peter's fingers along Peter's jaw line in a mockery of a caress. "You wouldn't want to abandon him to my tender mercies, would you?"

"I'm taking him with me."

"Yes, take him back. Take him back, and you take us both. Or go and leave him with me. Or stay forever. Which would you prefer?"

Again she laughed that terrible, inhuman laugh, and Edmund could think of nothing to say in response. What other choices were there?

"But, dear Edmund, we needn't be enemies forever. Come back to me. I can give you everything you want."

"That's what you promised before. You only used me and betrayed me and lied to me for your own ends."

"And what has your Lion done but that? He's used you, your brother, your whole family, letting them suffer and bleed to please Himself and, at the last, abandoning you all."

"You lie again! Aslan gave us everything out of love. Everything He asks of me, I'll gladly do. I can never repay what He's done for me even if He asks for my life."

"But your brother evidently didn't see it that way." Again she stroked Peter's fingers along Peter's cheek. "He's mine now, don't you see? He gave himself to me because I could give him everything your Lion wouldn't."

"If Aslan forbids us something, it's to protect us. Everything you offer is death."

Her black eyes sparkled. "And what glorious death. But now you must choose your own way. What will it be? Will you stay with me? Willingly? Or will you take me back to your world with your brother? Or will you abandon him altogether?"

Edmund's freezing hands shook as he held the blade between them. What could he do? Any of those courses was unthinkable. Oh, Aslan–

_Strike._

He knew that Voice. It was a rich, golden Voice. A Voice like no other.

No. No, not that. Not Peter!

"Or perhaps, instead of the rings, you would rather use your sword." The Witch ripped open Peter's velvet tunic and the silken shirt beneath, baring his breast for the blade, still forcing Peter's lips into her evil smile. "Come. Strike. But remember, I am not made of flesh. He is."

_Strike._

Tears streaming down his face, Edmund raised the sword, his fingers almost frozen against the hilt. The Witch looked steadily at him, a fearless, knowing gleam in her obsidian eyes.

_Strike. Strike with My sword._

And, at the sound of the Voice, Edmund felt the sword change in his hands. The icy touch of it turned warm, almost living, and it fairly rang in the coldness of the chamber.

"I'm sorry, Peter," he murmured, only half coherently. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"You dare not," the Witch taunted.

_Now, Just King. Strike!_

Edmund squeezed his eyes shut, remembering Peter, his magnificent brother, his High King, leading his troops into battle, a fearless cry on his lips.

"For Narnia," Edmund sobbed. "And for Aslan."

He drove the blade with all his might into Peter's heart. The Witch's obsidian eyes widened in surprise and horror, and then there was a shriek and a flash of blue-white light. Afterwards was only silence.

Edmund was alone.

He dropped to all fours, exhausted, desolate tears coursing down his cheeks, and he heard the golden Voice calling his name aloud.

"Edmund. Edmund, Dear Son, why do you weep?"

He pushed himself to his knees, bowing his head. What more was to be required of him? What more had he to give?

"Peter."

It was all he could say. He could hardly say that. Even Peter's body was gone. There was only the dim redness of the light and the burned out ruins of the Witch's world.

"But why, Child, do you weep?"

Why? Could He who knew all possibly ask him why? Now?

"Peter," he said again, half choked on the word. "I– I had to– He's gone. With her."

"Edmund, Beloved, do you trust Me to know what's best?"

There was a howling, bleeding hole in his heart, a pain so fierce and deep, he knew he could not long bear it. Peter was gone, he had been the one to kill him, and the Witch had taken him away with her.

Again the Voice came to him. "Do you trust Me?"

Sudden sobs convulsed his chest, and he reached up his arms, needing to feel that golden mane, desperate to press himself to the Lion's side and hear the warm beating of His heart.

"I trust You. Help me trust You."

And then his face truly was pressed into warm fur, his arms were tight around the tawny velvet neck, and he knelt there weeping until he could weep no more.

Afterwards, the Lion nuzzled his cheek, drying his tears, looking as if He shared Edmund's grief and yet radiating peace and love. And Edmund realized he was in a different place now, a lush, cool meadow surrounded with trees and dotted with wild flowers. And, just as England paled and dimmed when compared with Narnia, so Narnia seemed flat and lifeless beside this richness.

Edmund couldn't help remembering Reepicheep, the noble Mouse, trembling with happiness as he crested that endless wave that had somehow carried him here from the world's end all those years ago, his heart's desire finally within reach, at last to be seen with his own eyes. And somehow Edmund realized that this was what he had himself longed for more and more, especially since the vision of Tirian had come to the Friends of Narnia that night at dinner, however long ago it was. This, not England, not even Narnia, was his true Home.

And Edmund's trembling stilled. Somehow grief didn't belong in this place. He merely fixed his gaze on the Lion, and Aslan looked on him with warm golden eyes.

"Dear Son, did you not think I could keep what was Mine?"

The Lion looked past him, and Edmund followed his gaze. Someone was kneeling down beside a crystal river, drinking from both hands cupped together. Edmund's heart seemed to stop entirely for a beat or two and then rush on faster than before.

"Peter!"

He leapt to his feet, for the first time realizing that his knee no longer pained him. Peter turned at the same moment, standing and smiling, whole and hale, and his eyes–

His eyes were blue.

Edmund covered the distance between them in an instant, flinging his arms around his brother, ducking his head against Peter's blessedly solid chest, against his blessedly whole heart. And Peter crushed him close in return, one hand pressed to his back, the other to the back of his head, and Edmund could feel that cool, sweet water in his hair and on his neck.

"Peter. Peter."

Peter pressed a warm kiss into his hair. "Edmund. Oh, Eddie, you're all right."

"I thought I– I thought you–"

"Amice was Jadis." Peter drew a shaky breath. "I knew I couldn't fight her. I just wasn't strong enough on my own. All I could do was keep saying His name, over and over again saying it, and she couldn't touch me. She couldn't really do anything to me at all. And then I was here. I told Him how wrong I'd been, and how you knew something was amiss all along and tried to warn me. And He forgave me." Here he gave Edmund a wry little grin. "Again."

"But you didn't go to her. You never– She said you'd–"

"No." Peter glanced at Aslan, eyes full of gratitude. "No. And Aslan has sent her to her own place now. She can never come back. But what happened to you?"

Edmund laughed. Peter had never been there. It was all the Witch's lie. "None of that matters now."

He pulled back a little, looking at Peter. He was, they both were, dressed again in chain mail, but this was finer than what they had seen in the Witch's illusion, a hundred times finer than the best the Narnian dwarves could forge, and this time their tunics bore the ramped Lion. With Peter's arm around his shoulders and his own arm around Peter's waist, they walked back to where the Lion awaited them and knelt at His feet. One on either side, they put their arms around His neck and thanked Him as well as their words and looks were able.

"Aslan," Edmund said then, "is this–"

"This is not your place, Dear One. Not yet."

And all the happiness Edmund had been feeling drained out of him.

Peter bowed his head, his face changed from joy into grief. "Please, Aslan. If you send me back again to that Other Place, I'll die."

The golden eyes merely looked on him with love. "Yes, Dear Son, you will. As must all of your race."

"But it's not–" Peter ducked his head even lower, and now there were dark splotches on the knees of his breeches. "It's not this. I mean, it _is_ this. All this is more wonderful than anything in our world. But it's not just–"

Edmund swiped his sleeve over his own wet eyes and pressed his face deeper into the Lion's mane.

"It's not just this," Peter said. "Aslan, it's You."

"You know I'm with you there, too, Dear One."

"I know. I know You are. But we can't see You there. Can't hear You. Can't touch–" Peter hung on the Lion's neck, wracked with sobs. "Please. Please, please, please."

He didn't have to say what he wanted. Edmund knew already, for the plea was burning inside his own heart, screaming for him to add his own voice to Peter's and beg just to–

But he couldn't.

He could only hold on to that living gold as long as he was allowed and trust in the Lion.

"Dear Son," Aslan soothed, nuzzling Peter's cheek, "it is not wrong for you to long for the things I have put into your heart, but you must trust Me to know your right time and place. Give Me that trust, and I will always lead you where you are to go."

Peter had both hands in the Lion's mane now, his fingers balled into tight, angry fists. He didn't raise his head.

"Peter," Aslan said, this time with a touch of sternness.

Edmund could feel his brother tremble from the other side of the Lion, but still he did not move.

"High King!"

Peter jerked his chin up, mouth set in stubborn defiance, blue eyes blazing into infinite golden ones.

And then his face crumpled and he buried it again in the Lion's mane, newly awash with tears. Edmund felt for his brother's hand, weeping with him and for him and for himself. How long would be it be before He called them here? How long? Oh, Aslan–

"Dear Son," the Lion said again, endless love and patience in His golden eyes as He breathed against Peter's cheek. "Do you love Me?"

With a shaky breath, Peter lifted his head. Slipping his hand free of Edmund's, he touched his fingers to the Lion's whiskered face. "Yes, Aslan, You know I do."

"Do you know that I love you?"

Tears were running down Peter's neck now. He tried to speak, but he could only manage a shaky nod.

"And so, Beloved, will you trust Me?"

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his trembling lips together, fighting one last stubborn sob. Then he wiped his palm over his face and straightened his shoulders.

"Yes. I will."

Again Aslan nuzzled his cheek. "It is well, Dear Heart. You have fought long and hard. I've seen your courage. I've marked well your love– for those I've given into your charge, for your kingdom and for Me. You have pleased me more than you yet know. Do not turn back when there is but a little still to be done."

Peter opened his mouth and then closed it again, choosing instead to bow low enough to touch his forehead to one great velvet paw. From the other side of the Lion, knowing he had now no words, Edmund did the same. Then he felt a nudge and a tickle of whiskers in his hair.

"Well and faithfully done, Dear Son. You never turned your eyes from Me." The Lion nuzzled Edmund's neck. "And will you, too, keep faith with Me for this little while longer?"

Edmund reached instinctively for the sword at his hip, long used to sealing his oaths on it, but it was no longer there. Instead he lifted his eyes to the loving golden ones and covered his heart with his clenched hand.

"As You give me strength and as You give me life."

"Come, stand, My True Warriors and Well-Loved Kings." Aslan breathed sweet warmth on them both. "You have chosen the path that leads to Me. Know I will always guide you in it, walk with you on it and be waiting at its end."

Edmund stood, bringing Peter with him, knowing the renewed strength in his brother's face was mirrored in his own.

"Please, Aslan," Edmund dared, knowing there was likely only a moment left before He sent them back into that Other Place. "When will that be?"

"Soon, Dear Heart," the Great Lion said. "Soon."

And, with His roar, they were again on the blustery platform, again in their English clothes and heavy overcoats, waiting for the train to arrive, and the soreness in Edmund's knee was fierce as ever. Peter's face was again England-pale, though there was in it still and always the look of a king and of a warrior. There was a settled peace there, too, a peace that had been lacking for too long.

His blue eyes crinkling at the corners, he jostled Edmund with his shoulder. "What're you looking at?"

Edmund only laughed and shoved back. "Lummox."

Then he saw the train coming, maybe just a touch too fast for the bend in the track. Without really realizing it, he grabbed Peter's arm, something surprisingly eager and joyful surging into his heart at the sight. And he could think only one thing.

Soon.

_**"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."**_

–**C. S. Lewis**

****~O~O~O~O~If you liked this story and would like more, please leave me a review.~O~O~O~O~****


End file.
